30 January 2013
it’s much safer than catching a train in the big City so, kiss my brain but do it slant by indirection it’s just less messy say, like the convict’s wife through the bullet-proof glass so, when you kiss my brain just do it by proxy use a surrogate or other gate of your choice for instance. the eyelids are a nice place to start since they’re the lids to my brain-jar and then, of course, an earlobe would do for a frontal lobe smooch or two and, if you’d ask, I’d tell you that my favourite gate for kissing a brain, mine or yours or any other, is the nape, la nuque, la nuca, der Nacken but, finally, fully circle me (dizzy me) until you reach a sacred temple and so, from there, twirling my hair, kiss me again and enter in that's our train and I'm too woozy to stand
27 January 2013
25 January 2013
1. at the spider hour, that is, dawn, when the dew is there to draw your gaze when the droplets are sown as flood- lights for the finding of the finest art 2. while wan detectives dust for prints hoping for a hit against the past the paper boy is out and the bread man is out but not the milk
21 January 2013
The ocean is a restless queen a troubled queen in silver gown slow pacing in
her frazzled gown both in and out and up and down the pardon done then blotted out.
19 January 2013
18 January 2013
Dear Mary, The dead were covered with peach petals shaken down by the great guns and I remembered your scarf, the one you called a clothified cloud. Tomorrow will be better everybody says. Next week is Palm Sunday. Remember me to your Pa. Paper is scarce. Your loving husband.
16 January 2013
Since my voice is not your voice and your voice is dialed way down, other voices they'll just have to do. After supper, they line us up down the hall like two batteries of siege mortars faced off against one another. Our wheelchairs locked in place, we wait while they go bleeding from room to room turning down our cool covers, creating perfect little people- sized pocket protectors. Then they start at one end or the other (tonight I get to go last), our dreams in plastic cups. Some ask, "Had enough?" meaning the water. My aide's from Haiti, almost as frail as I am. “Ready for bed?” she whispers. And though her voice is not your voice and it's really not a question, I bow.
12 January 2013
11 January 2013
07 January 2013
A great rotunda. Bitter cold. Then one drop — dangling — an out-of-place pearl. You don’t want it to drop. You want it to drop. You don’t want it to drop. But it does. And when the ripples run to the edges of the circular pool, that’s when all the tickling icicles fall. And shatter. And stab. And then. And then they rise up again — the hollow pipettes like the bones of hummingbird figurines — reforming the cage of icy chimes.
05 January 2013
04 January 2013
03 January 2013
02 January 2013
01 January 2013
~ A three-layer haiku for the New Year ~ There is a painting “Snow Falling on Burning Torch” — an old man walking in the background through the cherry orchard and his tracks are grey, then black. He has a red hat. It hasn’t been painted yet — but you could do it.